Bouquet
by HermioneLunaPotter
Summary: Flowers have a language of their own. Each chapter represents an interpretation of a range of flowers and a person who fits the description. Written for the HPFC Flower Language Challenge. #3 Moss: Alice Longbottom/Neville Longbottom
1. Alstroemeria

_**Written for the HPFC Flower Language Challenge**_

_Alstroemeria_

_Symbolises wealth, prosperity and fortune_

…

"_All you need in life is wealth, Druella. Wealth gives you prosperity, and with prosperity, you get power."_

...

She had only been five years old when her mother had uttered those precious words of wisdom as she combed her only daughter's thin, blonde hair, yet Druella Black had strived to abide by them for her entire life. As a child, she had been brought up exactly the way a young, Pureblood girl was supposed to be. Her entire life had revolved around marriage. For a girl of her era, marriage was the only acceptable way to gain a reputation; for a husband was reflective of the type of woman you were. A wealthy, attractive, Pureblood husband was indicative of a lady's status in society, and without it, she was even lower than a House Elf.

...

"_Marry a rich man, Druella; do not care for trivial matters such as love."_

...

Cygnus Black had been offered as a sufficient suitor when Druella was only fourteen. At eighteen years of age, he was handsome, excessively wealthy and the heir of one of the most notable Pureblood families in the wizarding world. Her father had conducted the transaction; they were to be married when Druella graduated Hogwarts and her dowry would taken from her vault and added to her husband's. And, like any fourteen year old girl, Druella couldn't have been happier with the match, and bragged about her engagement to Cygnus to her gaggle of friends at Hogwarts.

...

"_If a man chooses to marry you, Druella, it means that he is willing to spend the rest of his life with you. Do not ask for anything more."_

...

Indeed, in the weeks leading up to her marriage, she had not spoken more than a few brief words to her future husband. Time for proper conversation alone was snatched away by dress fittings and writing lists: lists of invited guests (most of whom Druella had never met before), lists of the choices for the banquet, lists of the elf-made wine. When she had first met her future in-laws, Cygnus had treated her with a cold, indifferent manner, that she assumed was because he was tired from work. Alas, he had chastely kissed her cheek when they had bid each other farewell at the end of the evening, but there was no passion to be found and Druella felt herself _longing_ for some sort of emotional connection to her fiancé. Her mother's words loomed over her, and she bit her lip and cried to herself under the covers, praying that somehow it would be different when they were married; that Cygnus was merely holding back from expressing his true feelings in front of prying eyes. He had to love her, didn't he? He was marrying her, after all.

...

"_Money is the only thing that matters, Druella. Only wealth can give you true power."_

...

The first time she visited her vault at Gringotts, she was overwhelmed by the sheer size of the place. It was a large as her childhood home, and stacked from floor to ceiling with gold and silver cylindrical towers and an assortment of jewel studded artefacts. Her own Rosier vault seemed tiny compared to the entire Black fortune. The goblin bowed before her and addressed her by Madam Black, a title that filled her with pride and power. As she strolled down the alley, clutching her little money bag, people moved out of her way and averted their eyes at her presence. Never had she felt so revered. She held her head high and sneered down at the passers-by over her straight, regal nose. No longer was she little Druella Rosier, youngest of five. He was Druella Black, a member of the most influential Pureblood family and she enjoyed the awe her new name inspired.

…

"_You are only here to provide sons for your husband, Druella, for without sons there is no heir."_

…

It was quite a smooth birth, only four hours, and Druella had looked upon her newborn daughter with fond eyes. Sweat stuck to her forehead and she felt exhausted, but her face was glowing with joy as she cradled her little girl in her arms. She had decided to call her Bellatrix, for name was exotic and beautiful. Little Bella was a splitting image of her father, with a small tuft of black hair upon her head. Her eyes were silver and she threw her chubby fists about as she howled in discomfort. Cygnus had spent her a quick visit and scowled in disproval at his firstborn, before departing rather quickly. Andromeda came next, a year later. She was a quiet little thing; didn't utter a single cry and simply blinked up at her mother with large, brown eyes. Again, Cygnus disproved of his second daughter, and barely spared his daughter any affection. Druella hoped with all her might that their next child would be a son. But alas, when baby Narcissa made her appearance some three years later, Druella knew there was no hope for her. She would never have a son. Cygnus didn't acknowledge her presence for a month after Cissy's birth and Druella spent most of her time in the nursery, caring for her youngest and hoping they didn't end up a disappointment like she was.

…

"_Have no regrets about your life, Druella. You are wealthy, prosperous and powerful, people should be jealous of you."_

…

It was the eve of her sixtieth birthday. She sat beside the fire, her feet propped up on a stool and a cup of tea clenched between her cold, bony fingers. The house was empty. Cygnus had passed away some years ago, not that Druella missed his sour presence. As she watched the fire flicker and cast dim shapes across, she thought about her life. When she was a child, she had pictured herself as this beautiful queen, living in a lavish palace, with her handsome husband by her side and her children running about. But, if anything, her life had been completely different. She had married a man who had no care for her, had lived in a large, cold house, void of life, since she was eighteen. She had disappointed her husband with giving birth to three daughters, and had robbed her girls of the right to choose their own path. Her eldest was now a psychopathic maniac, rotting in Azkaban, her second daughter had disgraced the family by running off with a Mudblood, and her youngest, darling Narcissa, was condemned to live the sad, lonely, loveless life that she had been obliged to lead. A single tear fell down her pale cheek and she reached for her wand. There was nothing for her in the life now. Her husband was dead, her daughters married, or in prison. Life was bleak, and she wanted nothing more than to be rid of it. Placing the tip of her wand against her temple, she gave a dry smile. _All you need is wealth, mother, _she thought bitterly, _for it allows you to die in style._

* * *

**_A/N: A different writing style to what I normally write, but I thought I'd do something different. Just a glimpse into the life of Druella Rosier; mother of Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa Black. I always thought that Pureblood witches of her status would have a life similar to women in the Victorian era; where finding a husband and producing heirs was the only goal. And I think it would have been a dreadful life..._**

**_If you could be so kind and drop me a review on your way out, that would be great! xx_**


	2. Gladiolus

**Written for the Flower Language Challenge**

**Prompt: **_Gladiolus_ -symbolises strength of character, faithfulness, honour (write about a Gryffindor)

**Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competion**

**Team:**_ Wimbourne Wasps_

**Position:**_ Beater 2_

**Prompt:**_ Ginny Weasley_

* * *

_Gladiolus_

_Symbolises strength of character, faithfulness and honour_

The Room of Requirement opened to reveal a cloaked figure, covered from head to foot in sprinkles of snow. The hood cast a shadow over her face, but the bright red hair that spilled out the sides gave her away. She slumped down on the couch beside Neville and drew the cloak from around her shoulders. The dying fire burned away slowly in front of them and Ginny warmed her hands in front of it, thawing her frozen fingers.

The radio was on again, listing off the endless number of people; magic and Muggle alike, who had disappeared. She pretended not to listen and focussed solely on warming up her hands, but her ears were straining hard to hear each of the names. What if she heard Mum's name? Or Bill's, or Fred's? Or even worse, Harry's name? So far, wherever he, Ron and Hermione were, they had remained inconspicuous and that gave Ginny a bit of hope. Still, she couldn't help but _wish_ that there was at least a small scrap of news about him. _Anything _to confirm that he was still alive.

The warmth of a large hand rested on her shoulder and she looked over at Neville, who smiled at her sadly.

"He's still alive, Ginny," he assured her. "If he was dead, the Ministry would be having a field day."

She bit her lip and nodded, turning her gaze back to the fire. Neville was only trying to help. They were his friends too; of course he would be just as worried about them as she was.

With a sigh, she kicked off her shoes and wiggled her sock clad toes as she gazed about the room. The other members of the DA were lounging about, playing Exploding Snap or chatting with each other. Seamus was fast asleep on one of the hammocks, the left side of his face badly bruised. Parvati and Lavender were huddled together; the former patting the back of the other as she sobbed into her hands.

The current state of the world had affected everyone. Even poor Neville. She cast him a sideways glance, to see his brown eyes downcast. Ever since Luna had been taken from the train on the way home for Christmas, he hadn't been his normal, optimistic self. He still fought on, leading the DA and being a strong figure by which so many of them admired, but he had grown hard, almost bitter. It reminded Ginny of the way Harry had acted a few years ago, after seeing Cedric Diggory murdered. She reached out and took his hand, giving it a firm squeeze, before rising from the couch and heading over to an empty hammock.

Her aching legs gave way immediately and she slumped rather clumsily into the hammock and drew a blanket around her body. She put her hands behind her head and gazed outside. The grounds were completely covered with a sheet of snow, which rained down from the sky softly. A part of her wished that she could be out there with her brothers, having snowball fights and staying up until the sunrise, when their noses would be red and their fingers numb from the cold. As much as it was convenient, she hated being cooped up here. It made her feel like a caged animal and she longed to be free.

Curling up on one side, she tucked her legs up and put her hands underneath her head in an attempt to get some rest. Lately, her dreams had been haunted by dark shadows, Harry's unconscious face often in the midst, along with her brothers, Neville's and Luna's. It had been a few months since she had slept properly. Even now, while safe in the hideout, surrounded by the other DA members, Ginny had her wand clutched defensively in her hand; as though the Carrows were going to burst in at any moment and torture them.

Eventually, her eyelids drooped closed and she fell into slumber. She dreamt of a cloaked figure, their face hidden from her view. They carried an unconscious body in their arms; it was Harry's. Ginny was kneeling on the ground in front of them, when the figure dropped him to the floor. She screamed out his name but he didn't hear her. The figure pulled back their hood and it was Luna's face. She sneered at Ginny, her voice much higher and nastier than normal, and suddenly she transformed into Bellatrix Lestrange. She raised her wand and shrieked, "I will have order!" before Ginny was suddenly shaken roughly.

She opened her eyes immediately to find Neville standing over her, his face a mask of concern. He withdrew his hand from her shoulder and smoothed some of her red hair away from her sweaty forehead.

"Are you alright, Ginny?" he asked softly. She nodded and her brown eyes darted about the room. Everything was the same as before she had fallen asleep. There were no shadows, no Bellatrix... no Harry.

"You were tossing and turning quite a bit," Neville explained. "I thought you were having a nightmare."

Gingerly, she lifted herself up and swung her legs over the edge of the hammock, burying her head in her hands.

"I was," she muttered, refusing to face her friend. Neville drew an arm around her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"You look terrible," he told her. "Fancy a Butterbeer?"

Ginny nodded, and drew up her knees, resting her head against them. Neville soon returned with two steaming mugs of creamy, golden Butterbeer and plopped next to her. He handed her one and she took eager sips, savouring the feeling of the hot liquid sliding down her throat and filling her with warmth. Slowly, her fingers began to thaw and she sank lower into the hammock in an attempt to get comfortable.

Neither of them said anything, but they didn't need to. Ginny was grateful for Neville's company; he was one of the only people she knew who wouldn't pester her to _talk_ about her nightmare. He simply let her come to terms with it herself and she gripped his hand firmly, expressing her silent gratitude. Soon, their mugs were empty, and Ginny leant her head on Neville's shoulder and closed her eyes.

"Don't give up hope, Gin," he told her. "Harry's still out there, fighting for us. We have to do our bit here, to help him."

Ginny nodded and smiled up at him. "Aye, aye, captain."

She fell asleep not long after and this time, the shadows had dispersed and were replaced by brighter images; of Neville and Luna, Ron and Hermione. And of Harry, his brilliant green eyes sparkling as he embraced her and, for just a moment, everything was alright.

* * *

_**A/N: Hope you enjoyed this. Just a little snippet of what Ginny was feeling while she was at Hogwarts during the 7th book. Hope I did it justice :) Please read and review! xx**_


	3. Moss

_**Written for the HPFC Flower Language Challenge**_

_Moss_

_Symbolises maternal love_

The warmth of a hand pressed against her forehead, rousing her from her brief nap. Alice Longbottom opened her blue eyes slowly, focussing in on the face of her husband hovering above her. His smile was wide and his deep, brown eyes light with joy as he gazed upon her and she felt a thrill rush over her, as it always did when he looked at her like that.

As he sat beside her and took her hand, she felt the bed shift with his weight and adjusted herself to fit beside him. The small movement was exhausting and she closed her eyes for a moment and snuggled back against the pillows.

"Are you alright, Al?" Frank asked in concern, giving her hand a gently squeeze. She smiled and opened her eyes once more.

"I exhausted," she admitted, tiredly.

Frank bent to brush his lips softly against her forehead, and then down to her nose, placing gentle kisses all over her face.

"I'm so proud of you, love," he told her. "You were brilliant." He pulled back and rested his forehead against her, gazing down deeply at her. One of his hands stroked her cheek gently and she grasped it and kissed each of his fingers.

"I want to see my baby," she said firmly, though her voice still a little shaky from the labour. Frank nodded and went to the end of the bed, where a bundle of blankets lay huddled inside the bassinet. The expression of awe on his face as he gazed at his newborn son warmed Alice's heart and she felt tears welling in her eyes at the beautiful sight.

She held out her arms and Frank placed the infant gently between them. The baby was so tiny, with a completely bald head and a tiny, pink nose. Alice sniffed loudly as she gently cradled him to her chest and reached out to stroke his soft cheek.

"Hi, baby," she cooed. "My beautiful baby boy."

At her voice, the baby opened his dark brown eyes – Frank's eyes – and blinked blankly up at his mother. This was almost too much for Alice and she burst out into joyous sobs. The tears cascaded down her pale, flushed cheeks in an endless stream, but she was too overwhelmed to wipe them away.

It was remarkable to hold her newborn child in her arms. With the darkness of the current war surrounding them, Frank had been sceptical about raising a child in such a harsh environment. He was convinced that loving Alice was enough – if they had a child, it would mean another being to become attached to and he couldn't bear the thought of losing either of them. But Alice had persisted. She knew, in the back of her mind, that a child was just the sort of thing this world needed. Children brought hope and love and light into a world that was being consumed by hatred.

Gazing down upon her son, she knew he was destined for great things. He would be a great wizard, just like his father, and smart like his mother. He would be brave and strong and kind and loyal. Alice was absolutely positive. Lily was due any day now, and Alice had a feeling that her son and Lily's child would become great friends.

"Hey, little fella," Frank beamed, his voice thick with emotion, and he took the boy's tiny hand in his own. "Look at what we made, Alice. He's amazing."

Alice nodded tearfully, splattering droplets onto her dressing gown. "He's wonderful, Frank. And look, he has your eyes."

The baby turned his eyes on his father and Frank made a small noise, like he was holding back a sob.

"And your nose," he pointed out, giving her promptly on the nose. "We still have to name him."

Alice chewed on her lip as she thought. At first, when they were deciding names, they had been adamant that they were having a girl. They had tossed up between Beatrice, Fiona and Elizabeth, with Alice as the middle name. But they hadn't discussed boy's names. She gazed down at her little son and stroked his head gently as she thought. He was so perfect, so tiny, so soft; there was no name that could adequately describe him.

"We'll give him a name later," she told Frank through a yawn that had suddenly overwhelmed her. "Right now, I'd just like to get some sleep."

Frank nodded and moved to take the baby from Alice when she held him more defensively to her chest. "No, I want him to stay with me."

Chuckling lightly, Frank kissed his wife gently before planting one on his newborn son's forehead. He then went and plopped himself in the rocking chair sitting idle in the corner of the room and picked up a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Before he'd even turned the page, Alice had fallen into a deep sleep, caressing her little boy protectively in her arms.

...

"Neville..." Alice muttered, semi-conscious as she stirred after sleeping for four hours. Her eyes landed on Frank, who was still sitting in the rocking chair, the _Prophet_ resting against his crossed knee. He smiled at her as she woke and put his paper down to join her.

"Did you have a good sleep, Al?" he asked gently, kissing her cheek. She nodded and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes with her free hand.

"Neville," she repeated, a little more firmly this time.

Frank laughed. "Alice, darling, I know you're exhausted, but surely you can remember that my name is Frank."

She frowned at him and shook her head stubbornly. "No," she scolded. "Neville – for a name."

They both glanced down at their little boy, who was fast asleep in the bundle of blankets; his little eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open in a small 'o'. Frank considered the name for a moment, experimenting with how it sounded rolling off his tongue.

"Neville," he mused, before breaking out into a smile. "I like it. It kind of suits him."

Alice beamed. "Neville Frank Longbottom," she said fondly. "Welcome to the family."

Frank grinned and kissed Alice fiercely, as difficult as it was when she was cradling a baby.

"We did it, Al," he whispered against her mouth. "We did it."

She nodded and spared one last look at Neville. He was by far the most incredible thing she had ever seen in her life, and for a moment, she thought it was all a dream. Nothing this wonderful happened in the world anymore. Surely it _must _be a dream. But the warmth of Neville's small body and the feel of Frank's hand around hers assured her that it was very real, and she didn't want this moment to ever end. The two new parents remained in their master bedroom for quite a while, simply enjoy this moment alone as a family before the chaos of the world decided to rip them apart.

At that moment, Alice felt a strange, powerful connection to her son. She knew, no matter what happened, that she would always love him.

* * *

_**A/N: I wanted to chose something a little different for this prompt. Most people, when they think of maternal love, would think of Molly Weasley or Lily Potter. But what about poor Alice Longbottom? Even after being tortured to insanity by Bellatrix, she still gives her son those little sweet wrappers - a sign to Neville that she still loves him. It's possibly the saddest thing ever, and I wanted to express her love for Neville in their first moments together. Of course, Frank had to be featured, because he is the father and is just as overjoyed about Neville as Alice is. **_

_**Please feel free to drop me a review on your way out :) xx**_


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